


Leather and Ink

by Smolandmighty (orphan_account)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Smolandmighty
Summary: In which Laura is a music journalist documenting the underground music scene in Styria, Austria. It is there that she begins writing a piece on the She-Wolves, a goth metal band fronted by the brooding Carmilla Karnstein, who is a little more vampiric than her image suggests, if that can be believed.In the depths of that cold, mountainous region of Europe, Laura's career (and life) depend on ingratiating herself to the band members, and the stakes are ever higher the further she is drawn in.





	1. Career Options

“Well, your resume looks great, as do the samples you sent in, Ms. Hollis. It’s quite impressive for someone your age.”

Across the desk, the short brunette, journalist hopeful Laura Hollis, was practically wriggling with excitement. It had always been a dream of hers to use her writing skills as a career, and this interview seemed to be the perfect gateway. 

 

On this particular spring afternoon, she was being considered as a staff writer at  _ Platinum Bites _ , a an extremely popular online music magazine with an intense following of would-be high-culture laureates. And if simply being  _ considered _ as an employee of such a respected publication wasn’t enough, she was about to be welcomed into their ranks. That is, if she wasn’t so overwhelmed that she dropped dead of a heart attack. 

 

The interviewer, a friendly middle-aged woman by the name of Frances Cochrane, smiled warmly.

 

“Well, Laura, welcome to the team. I’m eager to see what you come up with for us.”

 

It took all of Laura’s energy to contain the piercing yell of joy that surged into her throat, which caused the rest of her decorum to take temporary residence on the backburner as she leapt up, knocking over her chair with a loud clatter.

 

“M-My apologies, Mrs. Cochrane,” Laura stammered, brown eyes wide with embarrassment in nerves.

 

Mrs. Cochrane chuckled warmly and waved a hand dismissively. She stood up from behind her desk and righted the chair, tucking it in smoothly. Turning to Laura, she extended her hand, which the young writer gripped with a little more gusto than was necessary. 

 

“Thank you so much! I promise I won’t let you down!” Laura piped up, sticking up straight and stretching as tall as her tiny frame would allow.

 

“I’m sure you won’t,” Cochrane replied coolly, “I’ll have your desk ready on Thursday.”

 

“I’ll be there!”

 

“I’ve got no doubts. Enjoy the rest of your day, Ms. Hollis.”

 

“The same to you, Mrs. Cochrane. Goodbye!”

As soon as the oak office door swung clicked shut behind her, Laura punched her fist in the air triumphantly and let out the squeak of joy she’d been struggling to contain for the remainder of their conversation. She was finally a true blue reporter, not a high school student running around interviewing students on their cafeteria choices or an amateur web blogger, but a journalist with official credentials and a desk! All her daydreams of her as Veronica Mars or a more independent, sapphic version of Lois Lane had come to fruition. 

 

She fumbled in her flimsy Target-bought vinyl purse for the cinderblock of a cell phone she’d had since high school and dialed the first number in her favorites list.

 

“LaFontaine!”

 

“Yes, Laura?”

 

“I got hired!”

 

“Yo, shit, that’s awesome! I believe this is cause for celebration, no?”

 

“Yes, yes it is. Drinks on me at the Lustig!”

 

“Oooh, nice. Ya hear that, Per? The hotshot reporter is treating us to shots tonight!”

 

She heard a muffled but clearly concerned response in the background that could only be Perry somehow trying to convince LaFontaine that drinks on a Friday night was a terrible, irresponsible choice. 

 

“We’re coming and your wallet is going to be very sore tonight,” LaF announced.

 

“I don’t doubt it,” Laura replied with a grin, “See you later.”

 

“See ya!”

 

She pressed the ‘end’ button with a sigh. It was a warm, sunny afternoon with a cool breeze. She’d just gotten hired at a great periodical and she had plans for a rousing evening of drinking with her friends at their favorite bar...All in all, she’d just had a fantastic day and was intending to carry on the trend. 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, at the crisp, clean office of _Platinum_ _Bites_ , Mrs. Frances Cochrane was in the middle of an important call. While she reclined in her Italian leather chair with her Samsung pressed to her ear, on the other line was Matska Belmonde, the manager of an up-and-coming European metal outfit. 

 

“Good evening, Ms. Belmonde,” Cochrane drawled pleasantly, smiling as she tapped her fingers slowly on the vintage mahogany desk.

 

“Please, call me Mattie,” returned the voice from the other line, “And since international calls are expensive, it would be to both our benefits that we keep this short.”

 

“Rational as ever I see. Well, let’s get to it then. I’ve heard about that new act you have on your roster, She-Wolves was it?”

 

“Ahh, the buzz has finally reached the lovely folk across the pond.”

 

“Indeed it has. I’ve heard their new release and I think they have the potential to make it big here, and if you’ll allow it, I’d like _Platinum_ _Bites_ to write the piece that gives them that necessary push.”

 

“So, you want to play Kingmaker now, my lovely Frances?” Matska teased, “For you, I think that can be arranged. However, their schedule is a bit tight at the moment what with touring and all so I doubt they can fly all the way to the United States for an interview.”

 

At that moment, Frances had the beginnings of a plan. “I don’t think that will be a problem. We just hired a new staff writer. She’s absolutely brilliant and has the drive to do just about anything we put her to. I can have her on a flight to that nasty dark corner of Europe you happened to choose for your business dealings come Monday.”

 

She could practically hear the corners of Mattie’s lips curl into a devilish grin on the line. “That sounds absolutely splendid. If she’s as good as you say, I’m sure it’ll do them a bit of good in expanding their audience. I think we have ourselves a deal.”

 

“Wonderful,” Frances said, her back sinking comfortably into the back of the chair now that the difficult part of the conversation had passed.

 

“Indeed. Unfortunately, I can’t join you in a celebratory drink, so you’ll have to pop open a bottle of champagne in my stead, dear,” Mattie said in her trademark coquettish tone through the stunningly clear reception of Cochrane’s jaw-droppingly expensive phone plan.

 

“Only the best for you, my dear,” Frances gammed in reply.

 

“I’d expect nothing less. Good night darling, I can’t wait to see what this little nymph of yours can do.”

 

“She won’t disappoint. Good night, Mattie.”

 

As the phone line went silent, Frances chuckled to herself. Mattie hadn’t changed a bit since they’d been undergraduates at Cambridge together in the 70s. Although she would love to relive old times with her elegant, unbearably flirtatious friend, Cochrane was now the owner of her own company. She didn’t have the space in her schedule to fly all the way to the cold and unforgiving mountains of Austria, nor would her husband appreciate another of her dalliances. Thus, it was only fair to toss the task along to one of her underlings. Thankfully for her, Laura was as eager and talented as she was lacking in seniority, so she wouldn’t have to twist the girl’s arm too much to get her on that plane. 

  
However, it was near midnight, so that particular conversation would have to wait until morning.  And on that note, Cochrane gathered up her things in her briefcase, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and went through the usual routine of being the last to leave the office. 


	2. Red-Eye

Laura awoke to a blistering, head-splitting hangover that Sunday. After two nights in a row of binge-drinking with her friends, she was really starting to remember not to be so nonchalant about her tolerance. Her helicopter dad wasn’t too fond of underage alcohol consumptions and the potential date-rapes that could arise from attending parties so she didn’t have the chance to experience the hardening nights of vomiting into the toilet that LaF and Perry had. Surprisingly, once Perry got over her anxieties about her liver dissolving, the girl could drink like a fish.

 

Meanwhile, the cotton sheets felt like a hair shirt on Laura’s legs as she struggled to lift her head from the pillow.

 

“Uhhnnnn,” she moaned, rueing the day she ever let LaF convince her that a fourth Jager Bomb was a good idea.

 

Suddenly, her phone rang and she let out a piercing shriek of pain as the tone sent a wave of jackhammer, mind-numbing hurt through her head. Through the mire of sirens and dots crossing her field of vision, she recognized Cochrane’s number on the screen and scrambled to answer, knocking hand creams, chapstick and an outdated issue of the New Yorker off her nightstand.

 

“G-Good morning, Mrs. Cochrane,” Laura choked out, doing her best to not sound like she’d spent her night pounding hard liquor.

 

“Good morning, Laura. I hope I didn’t disturb you on this lovely morning,” Cochrane’s saccharine, maternal voice  oozed through the phone, providing a momentary reprieve from the brunette’s nasty migraine.

 

“Not at all. How can I help you?”

 

“Well, I actually have an assignment for you.”

 

Laura sat up so quickly that the room started swimming and she had to grab her head with her hand to stabilize her field of vision. _Oh fuck me_ , she groaned internally, _never again with that many drinks_.

 

“What is it? If I may ask of course.” _If I may ask? It’s literally your job now, dummy._

 

“A profile of a rising metal act from Europe. They’re called the She-Wolves and they are gaining a lot of traction in the underground scene. The problem is, they’re in Austria and none of my other staff are available for that long of a flight. So, I need you to do this feature piece.”

 

Laura’s jaw dropped so fast the bone popped. “R-Really? That’s amazing!”

 

“It is indeed. Are you up to it?”

 

“Yes, but are you sure you want to send me and not someone more experienced?” As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Laura wanted to smack herself. _Self-sabotage, really? Just take it and go with it, stupid!_

 

“As I said before, none of them are available, and I think your way with words in more suited for this task. I want a colorful, beautifully written piece, and I’m sure you can provide just that, Ms. Hollis,” Cochrane replied cooly.

 

“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mrs. Cochrane,” Laura said, collecting herself while she gritted her teeth as the veins in her temple pounded savagely as she struggled to maintain her usual bubbly tone, “I won’t let you down!”

 

“I’m sure you won’t, Ms. Hollis. I’ve purchased your ticket for you and sent it to your email address so I’d suggest you start packing soon.”

 

“Will do. Thanks again!”

 

“Again, no problem. Have a good day and a safe flight.”

 

“Will do. Have a good day.”

 

With that, Cochrane hung up and Laura flopped back onto her pillows.  An international flight, with this hangover? As if this wasn’t enough of a headache. With a whine, she pulled herself back up, pulled her laptop from her drawer, typed in her twelve-character password and checked her email.  Sure enough, she had a boarding pass for a flight to Austria at 6 pm in the evening.

 

“Well, this is going to be fun,” she said nervously, putting her right hand to her forehead as she shut her laptop with her left.

 

As she crawled out of bed, she slipped on the side and banged her head against the side table.

 

“Ouuuww,” she whimpered, rubbing what was bound to be a nasty egg on her forehead.

 

Slowly, she made her way over to the closet, pulling out her tattered old duffel bag. She began stuffing it with all her blouses, pencil skirts, and jeans, trying to make sure she had a professional ensemble for her trip. As the bag swelled with pressed white and blue oxfords, straight leg jeans and sensible shoes, Laura couldn’t help but wonder what kind of  carbohydrate-heavy snacks they had for sale in Austria. So much for that New Year’s Resolution about being healthy.

 

Laura jumped on the bag a few times, knees jamming all the clothes into place so that she could finally zip the damn thing. Once safely closed, the brunette nervously examined it’s grotesque, swollen shape. She could only pray that it wouldn’t explode as she made her way through the airport, or worse, mid-flight. With her checked bag all ready to go, she trudged over to the dresser, sifting through her socks and underwear to find her lockbox. She popped it open and removed her passport, cringing slightly at the horrible photo plastered across the page. _I cannot wait to redo that_ , she sighed mentally, remembering she had another three years before she could replace the photo of a gawkish naturalized Canadian with some massive metalwork in her mouth.

 

She tucked the little dark blue book into her hand-me-down backpack, along with her clunky Dell laptop, some assorted legal pads, and her favorite books to read during late nights in the hotel.

 

“What are you banging around in there for? It’s too early to be making all that noise,” Groaned one of roommates from her cozy spot on the couch.

 

“Sorry S.J,” Laura called back, “I have a flight to catch! And it’s one in the afternoon.”

 

“Shit,” S.J grumbled, the couch audibly creaking as she sat up, “I’ve been out for a while then.”

 

“Half the day to be exact. Which is why I need to be getting on my way!”

 

“Have fun in LA or whatever.”

 

“Austria, actually.”

 

Just as the door began to close behind her, Laura could practically hear the cogs in Sarah Jane’s head turning as she let out a yell of, “Wait, what?”

 

“See you in a few weeks or something! Have a nice day!”

 

“You better keep up with your half of the rent!” Laura heard S.J’s muffled call through the door.

 

“No worries, that’s what Paypal is for,” Laura hollered, then continued on her way down the stairs.

 

After some considerable huffing and puffing as she dragged her overstuffed duffle bag and hefty electronics down the fourth and final flight of stairs, Laura let them drop the the ground with a _whump_ and called for a cab. She waited patiently, tapping her feet as she watched the cars roll by, keeping an eye out for that telltale orange paint job. After about fifteen minutes, one pulled onto the curb and Laura hobbled out to meet it.

 

“Airport please,” she piped up, and the cabbie nodded.

 

“Allow me to open the trunk for you so you can leave your bags,” He replied in a heavy French accent.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Laura handed him her duffel bag, which he tossed in the trunk with a soft thud and let the lid drop and click shut. Meanwhile, she got into the front seat and tucked her backpack between her knees as she buckled her seatbelt. As the driver, who introduced himself as Guillaume, started the car and steered them towards JFK International Airport, Laura watched the red numbers on the monitor change as the fare slowly increased, digit by digit.

 

She handed him the seventeen dollars she owed him for the fare, bid him goodbye, and walked through the automatic glass doors of the airport.

⧫

Meanwhile, the broody lead singer of the She-Wolves sat on the old leather couch in the old Victorian house she shared with her band members. She was bored out of her mind, and it showed in the tension holding her razor sharp cheekbones and jaw hostage.

 

Aimlessly, she pulled the stems from each cherry in the bowl in front of her as if she was pulling out the fingernails of some poor schmuck, chewing them slowly and methodically until the pit was stripped clean of any remaining flesh, at which point she spit it out unceremoniously into the bowl.

 

“Perpetrating violence on fruit, real classy sis.”

 

The leather-clad woman turned to face the source of the quip, a dangerous glint in her near-black eyes.

 

“Can it, Will, before I rip out your tongue and feed it to the dog.”

 

“Easy there, Puss in Boots, no need for threats of grievous bodily harm. I was only popping by to let you know that Mattie wants us at her office for a meeting in thirty.”

 

“Impeccable timing our sister has,” she grumbled, her voice saturated through and through with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “Did you tell Big Red and the Neanderthal?”

 

“Yep. Gingersnap is going to drive us there.”

 

“Ahh wonderful. I do love our meandering drives in that rustbucket of a van so much.”

 

“I doubt you’d rather walk.”

 

“Hey Morticia, if you’re done bitching, traffic is pretty bad so we should get going soon.”

 

At the top of the stairs stood a towering redhead who was glaring quite pointedly at the squabbling siblings. That was Danny, the band’s bassist, as well as their resident black sheep. Or, well, ginger sheep. Athletic, not all that broody, and equipped with a rigid sense of morality, she looked like the last person you’d expect in an edgy metal band.

 

But more importantly, she had no patience for their lead singer’s perfectly perfected image of disaffected coolness, and they had places to be.

 

“You too, Kirsch! We leave in ten!” Danny bellowed up towards the attic.

 

“Ok, smart hottie!”

 

“And don’t call me that!”

 

After a fair amount of yelling, swearing, and threats of grievous bodily harm, all four members of the band managed to find their way to the van. Danny was bright pink and doing her best to contain her rage while the dark-haired siblings smirked at their triumph over their nobler-than-thou bassist’s goodwill. And Kirsch, of course, was completely oblivious to the tension and dithering on about when it was his turn to choose the radio station.

 

The ride to Matska’s office felt like an eternity, punctuated by periods of tense silence and explosions of profanity that to the untrained ear would require funnels of bleach into the brain to wipe from one’s memory. Thankfully, it was over before Danny could lunge into the backseat and wring their petty vocalist’s scrawny neck.

 

“Relax, D-Bear—”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Kirsch!” The two women screamed in unison as they exited the vehicle.

 

“Okay, that’s cool,” Kirsch said cheerfully as he unbuckled, “The hotties want me to shut up, that’s cool.”

 

The building that housed Inanna Records, and the side label that She-Wolves had been signed to, Silas Media, was a looming, intimidating tower of steel and stone that cast a harsh shadow over all who crossed beneath it. And of course, being the sadist that she was, Matska’s office could only be reached by ascending seventeen flights of stairs. Thankfully for them, none of the band members were couch potatoes so they were only coated with a slight sheen of sweat when they reached the correct floor.

 

“Oi, Mattie!”

 

The glass door swung upon to reveal a tall, slender black woman with a brilliant white smile, one that widened upon seeing the group of four in front of her. And of course her warmest greeting was saved for her favorite.

 

“Carmilla,” she purred, pulling the now considerably less dour singer into a hug.

 

“Sis,” came the cheerful reply.

 

Danny gave a curt nod, Will rolled his eyes, and Kirsch stood, fidgeting, looking to Danny for his cues as usual. While Will was also a member of their visually incoherent family, Matska’s affections were largely reserved for her beloved younger sister, and rightly so, as Carmilla was her closest companion of so many years.

 

“What are you dallying for, my dears?” Matska chirped, her tone equally dripping sweet and mocking, “We have important business to attend to, come in.”

 

The four entered, each claiming a leather chair for themselves as Matska sat down behind her desk, letting them stew for a moment before addressing them again.

 

“Now, since you all have been doing a wonderful job with those toys of yours, you’ve become polished enough that we can begin to expand your base beyond this bleak little country,” she announced, “So I’ve called in a favor with a dear friend of mine and she has a greed to send one of her reporters to compose an article on you.”

 

Danny internally pumped her fist at their success, face beaming with pride, while Kirsch hooted loudly and beat his right fist against his pecs like a slightly less hairy gorilla. Will and Carmilla settled for contained, slightly haughty nods.

 

“So it is in that spirit I request that you be on your best behavior when the young lady arrives tomorrow.”

 

It was not a request.

 

“Am I understood?”

 

“Yes,” came the chorus of voices, with the exclusion of one.

 

“Now I’d appreciate it if the three of you would wait outside while I speak with our dear Carmilla.”

 

Again, this was not a request.

 

The three other band members filed out, leaving Carmilla and Matska alone in the office. Though their closeness was apparent in the simultaneously respectful and adoring way in which they regarded each other, the elder’s tone was firmer as she spoke this time.

 

“Now, Carmilla, as insufferable and annoying as this one may be, you _cannot_ eat her,” She drawled,  “I happen to have a very good working relationship with her employer, and should anything happen to the young lady, it will be bad for business and interpol will be sniffing around. And that is something none of us want.”

 

“But what if she gets too nosy?” Carmilla crossed her arms, cocking an eyebrow, “Or she pisses me off?”

 

“Then you’ll have to contain your temper, pet,” Mattie affirmed, “We are not equipped to handle that kind of bad press and I’d rather not face execution just yet. So keep your fangs to yourself, my dear.”

 

Carmilla rolled her eyes and grumbled, “Fine.”

 

Mattie smiled warmly. “That’s my Carm. I have some conference calls to attend to, so try not to kill your bandmates on the way back to the house. Though you are my lovely younger sister, you’re far more lucrative as a four-piece than a soloist.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Carmilla said with a chuckle, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

 

“Fabulous. I’ll arrange a lunch for the two of us sometime this week.”

 

“Sounds wonderful.”

 

“Indeed. Goodnight, sis.”

 

“Night Mattie.”

  
  


The drive home was equally as emotionally gruelling, with everyone a hair’s breadth from killing each other. However, as the group attempted to drift off to sleep, a certain plane touched down in Austria. And on it, a passenger that was about to make things that much more interesting in dear old picturesque Styria.


End file.
